


oh the heart beats in its cage

by walksbyherself



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Nogitsune Stiles, Possession, Post-Episode: s03e17 Silverfinger, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1230598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walksbyherself/pseuds/walksbyherself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is awake.  Even when he is asleep, part of him is awake.  </p>
<p>He thinks that it may not be part of <i>him</i> after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh the heart beats in its cage

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through episode 03x17 "Silverfinger," after which it heads into AU territory.
> 
> Title comes from from the song "Heart in a Cage," originally by the Strokes and covered by Chris Thile.

He is awake.

Even when he is asleep, part of him is awake. 

He thinks that it may not be part of _him_ after all.

* * *

He is awake. He is standing in the preserve, talking to Derek.

He gets the feeling that they have been standing there for longer than he knows.

“Something is wrong with you,” Derek says, grimacing at every word. “Come home. We can fix this.”

Stiles laughs; Derek flinches like he thinks he might have wasted his words on the wrong person.

“I wish you could fix it,” Stiles says. “But I think this one is on me.”

“How?” Derek demands. “Where will you go?”

Stiles falls asleep before he can tell Derek he doesn’t know.

* * *

He knows where he is when he wakes up, although he doesn’t know how he got there.

The house is part of a luxury development on the edge of town. Construction fizzled when the economy did, so a handful of finished houses and twice as many unfinished ones stand forgotten and empty down their own private road; a gated community with no gate.

There’s a brand new sleeping bag surrounded by wrappers for candy and protein bars, and a case of bottled water. He’s not sure what day it is, how much school he’s missed. His phone is long gone; a conscious decision or an accident, who knows. All he has are sunsets and sunrises, but who knows if they’re even part of the same week.

The next time he wakes up, there are three tally marks on the wall. He wonders if the thing inside him is doing him a favor, or if it’s something Stiles did for himself and now can’t remember.

He’s not sure which option is worse.

* * *

He falls asleep. 

He falls asleep.

He wakes up in an empty classroom with his hands around Kira’s throat. Her eyes are glowing electric yellow-white and her nails have dug bloody furrows into his arms, but he holds on because he can’t not.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Me too,” she gasps, and shoves one shimmering hand squarely into his face. He falls asleep.

* * *

There are other things he remembers only in flashes.

Allison draws her bow, the arrow’s barbed tip aimed right between his eyes. He tightens his arm around her father’s neck.

Scott helps him count his fingers, one two three, see buddy you’re awake. He breaks Scott’s fingers one at a time, eight nine ten, and laughs.

Derek’s mouth on his, safe and sweet. Derek asks him not, not to do something, but Stiles twists his fingers in the wound and doesn’t let him finish.

A patrol car is burning in the middle of an intersection, and his father stands on the other side, calling his name. His birth name, a tangle of syllables he hasn’t heard in years, since his mother said it last. It’s a true name and it has power, but not enough.

What he doesn’t remember is if any of it even really happened.

* * *

Sometimes he sees his face in the mirrors of the empty house; his eyes are clouded silver and his teeth are too many and too sharp. He never screams. He looks away.

He sleeps more and more, but even in his sleep, he feels things. 

He feels something building, like dry brush stacking up in fire season that’s going to burn and burn and burn and take whole towns off the map. 

He feels that he is running out of time.

He is out of time.

He gathers the power he has left--if so feeble a thing is power--and wraps his soul around his body, around the _thing_ inside his body, and pulls it down.

Into sleep.

* * *

This is the dream he will not remember:

His bedroom door is not quite shut. He stares at the gap between the door and the frame until it seems much wider than a few inches, until it’s big enough to swallow him.

Derek rolls over in bed beside him, blinking muzzily. “Stiles? what’s wrong?”

Something moves in the hall outside. 

“There’s something I need to do,” Stiles says, swinging his legs out of bed.

Derek grabs his arm, suddenly wide awake. “Stiles, leave it.” His voice is tense. “It can wait until morning.”

“No,” Stiles murmurs. “It really can’t.” He stands up, crossing the room slowly. He rests his hand on the doorknob.

“Come back,” Derek begs behind him. “Stiles, _please_.”

“I’ll be right there,” Stiles says, and flings the door open wide.

* * *

Everything is a blur; a whirlwind of teeth and claws, his soul being flayed.

It’s like dying. He thinks dying might be easier. 

The thing drags razors through his brain, excising faces and memories until he can’t even remember what he’s fighting for. It hisses in ears he doesn’t have; it promises that it will stop hurting him if he will just give up.

He knows so little now, but he knows that it is lying.

He lets it in, all the way in, down to his heart and what lies beneath. It curls up there, smug and dark and gloating, and Stiles smothers it. It kicks against him, snarling, and he feels a distant impact as his body falls. He feels his heartbeat slow. He doesn’t let go, can’t let go, this is his only chance and he doesn’t want to die but he won’t live like this. He squeezes harder until his vision flares white.

He wakes gasping on the floor of the garage, his hands still half-curled around his throat. The walls are covered with town maps and building schematics; the shelves are lined with pipe bombs. He is awake. He is awake. He is alone.

He lies there sobbing for a long time.

* * *

When he gets home, everyone is waiting for him.

The pack is with his father on the back porch; Kira on the bottom step, nervous sparks snapping at her fingertips. The oni stand on the lawn before them all like an honor guard. He can’t see their eyes, but he knows they are all looking at him.

The one in the middle takes a step forward. 

“ _Stiles_ ,” says his father, says Scott, says Derek.

“It’s okay,” Stiles says. “It’ll be okay.”

The oni stretches out a hand. Stiles lets himself be caught.

* * *

Stiles wakes up on the grass, curled into a tight ball, with his father’s hand on his shoulder.

“Kiddo? Are you with us?”

Stiles twists so he can see his father’s face. “Yeah. I”m here. I’m okay.”

His father smiles, shoulders slumping in relief. Kira frowns. “The mark is wrong,” she says.

“But his aura is right,” Derek argues. 

“ _Mostly_ right.”

“Can we have this argument inside?” Stiles asks. 

“Sure thing, kiddo.” Stiles’ dad helps him to his feet. “Whatever you want.”

* * *

Derek comes scratching on his window just after midnight. It doesn’t wake Stiles, because Stiles is not asleep.

Stiles opens the window, turns immediately back to his bed and sits down. “I was wondering when you’d get here.”

“Thought you might want to have some time with your dad,” Derek says.

“Before you showed up with the doom and gloom info, you mean? I appreciate it.” He smiles, quick and crooked.

“Kira’s mother was able to identify the mark. It’s actually two overlapping; one is ‘self,’ like the rest of us have.” Derek rubs at the spot behind his ear. “The other one is ‘shadow.’”

Stiles looks away before Derek can see him flinch. “You and Kira were talking about my aura.”

“It’s clear, but it’s not--”

“Not right.” Stiles gestures at the bed, inviting Derek to have a seat. “When the oni...did its thing, it told me that the nogitsune’s power had marked me. It could get rid of it if I asked.”

Derek sinks down gingerly, leaving as much room as possible between them. “And you didn’t ask.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I...That thing fucked with me for so long. If I can have this, if I can use it to protect myself, then maybe--”

“Maybe next time you’ll be safe,” Derek finishes. His voice is soft; he is looking at the floor, not at Stiles. “Maybe next time you’ll see the threat before it can ever hurt you or the people you care about. You’ll be the hero and not the victim, and it will all have been worth it.”

Stiles feels like he’s falling. Distantly, he hears himself say, “You don’t think I can do it.”

“I don’t know if anyone can do it.” Derek’s eyes flicker up, then away. “But if you want to try, then I...I’ll help you, as much as I can. We all will.”

Stiles remembers the things that may not have been real.

“That’s...all I have really,” Derek says, shifting his weight as though to stand. “I should let you get some rest.”

“Don’t,” Stiles says.

Derek stills.

“I’ve been asleep for a long time,” Stiles adds. “I’m not really looking forward to doing it again, you know? Even if it is my idea.”

“I could stay,” Derek offers slowly. “If you want.”

Stiles nods and they shift positions, soft shuffling that ends with Derek sitting up, leaning against the headboard, and Stiles underneath the covers, curled on his side with his hands beneath his chin.

Derek turns off the light.

“Did I kill anyone?” Stiles asks.

Derek doesn’t answer right away. “Why are you asking me?”

“Scott would lie,” Stiles whispers. “He loves me too much.” 

Asking his father is out of the question. It doesn’t bear mentioning.

“And I…” Derek’s voice fades away, like he hadn’t meant to speak in the first place.

“And you.” Stiles turns his head, looks up at Derek. “If you love me, I think you love me enough to tell the truth.”

“You didn’t kill anyone,” Derek says at last. “But you came very close, more than once”

“I remember Kira,” Stiles says, his voice slowing. “Who else?”

Derek sighs. “I’ll tell you in the morning.”

“You’ll be here?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Yes,” Stiles says, pressing his forehead against Derek’s hip.

Stiles falls asleep.

He doesn’t dream.

He wakes up.


End file.
